Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you 'tis true:
Yet wildings of nature, I dote upon you,
read more

Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you 'tis true:
Yet wildings of nature, I dote upon you,
For ye waft me to summers of old,
When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight,
And when daisies and buttercups gladden'd my sight,
Like treasures of silver and gold.

I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.

I hate flowers -- I paint them because they're cheaper than models and they don't move.

Mama was my greatest teacher, a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness. If love is sweet as a flower, then read more

Mama was my greatest teacher, a teacher of compassion, love and fearlessness. If love is sweet as a flower, then my mother is that sweet flower of love.

Thick on the woodland floor
Gay company shall be,
Primrose and Hyacinth
And frail read more

Thick on the woodland floor
Gay company shall be,
Primrose and Hyacinth
And frail Anemone,
Perennial Strawberry-bloom,
Woodsorrel's pencilled veil,
Dishevel'd Willow-weed
And Orchis purple and pale.

Flowers. . . are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.

Flowers. . . are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.

Flowers are words
Which even a babe may understand.

Flowers are words
Which even a babe may understand.

Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.

Art is the unceasing effort to compete with the beauty of flowers - and never succeeding.

Flowers are Love's truest language; they betray,
Like the divining rods of Magi old,
Where precious wealth read more

Flowers are Love's truest language; they betray,
Like the divining rods of Magi old,
Where precious wealth lies buried, not of gold,
But love--strong love, that never can decay!

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her . . . . I perhaps owe having become a read more

I am following Nature without being able to grasp her . . . . I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.